


As Fascinating as a Slap Bracelet

by acupforslytherin



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coming of Age, Draco Malfoy is a Good Friend, Draco is Fascinated, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Golden Trio Adopting Draco, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Mention of Off-Screen Death, Minor Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Others are Amused, Roommates, Slap Bracelets, Slightly Oblivious Harry, Wholesomeness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24762520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acupforslytherin/pseuds/acupforslytherin
Summary: Who would have thought that a wacky little Muggle toy would lead to an unlikely friendship between Harry and Draco? Not Harry, certainly.Who would have thought that this friendship would bloom into something more? Well, Ron, for one.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 40
Kudos: 535
Collections: HD Wireless 2020





	As Fascinating as a Slap Bracelet

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thunder_of_Dragons](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunder_of_Dragons/gifts).



> Thanks to the sweetest [Vanessa](https://maltters.tumblr.com/) and [Cherry](https://cherryslibrary.tumblr.com/) for betaing this! Their fantastic help made this fic so much better <3
> 
> I'm gifting this work to Kayden because of course someone as kind and positive as them would prompt this merry little song. I hope this fic could bring you joy as much as the song did to me :D
> 
> Inspired by [Have It All](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BFkTu8Y1KLs) by Jason Mraz  
> All good wishes in this fic, both written and spoken, are taken directly from the lyrics. Credit for another (kind of spoiler-y) line is mentioned in the end note.

When McGonagall decided to room him with Malfoy during his return to the Eighth year, Harry was bracing himself for the inevitable disaster that was bound to happen.

He asked McGonagall to reconsider the wisdom of her decision. The witch didn’t budge, stating that both Harry and Malfoy were both adults and they were expected to act as such—starting from sharing a space without harming each other in any way. It really didn’t help that there weren’t many Eighth years coming back to Hogwarts, as it left them with enough rooms for each to be occupied by only two students. Meaning, no one would be a witness in case an “accident” occurs. Still worried for his safety, Harry went the extra mile to ask Hermione if she could put a proper ward on his poster bed to avoid any attack when he sleeps. Hermione, seemingly sharing McGonagall’s opinion that they should be mature enough now, just rolled her eyes and told him to grow up.

In his defense, it was the tiny Slytherin part in him that begged for some form of self-preservation in the face of an enemy.

He soon discovered that his Slytherin part was never needed in the first place. The disaster he was anticipating never came.

Draco Malfoy was both different and exactly the same when he showed up to their shared dorm room. He was still this tall, blond, and pointy boy. He looked the same as Harry remembered except for his more matured edges. But he almost couldn’t trace the trademark snide and loud barks he got really familiar with.

If anything, Malfoy became very quiet. So quiet it was unsettling.

The first week sharing a room with Malfoy was almost painfully awkward. Malfoy seemed almost scared to be in Harry’s company and Harry didn’t know how to approach the change in his so-called arch nemesis. Both tried to ignore each other while at the same time being extremely aware of the other’s presence. It felt like both of them were not sure to coexist together, how to share the same air without breathing down each other's necks.

In the second week, Harry had enough of the thick awkwardness and decided to start initiating small talks with his new roommate. Malfoy was very wary at first, but as the time went, he eventually eased into somewhat civil interactions with Harry. A month into the arrangement, they threw each other polite greetings on a daily basis and sometimes even discussed a little bit about their schoolwork.

Harry didn’t hate how it turned out. It was nice not to spend his energy shouting childish things at Malfoy’s face and being shouted at in return. It was also nice to not have to worry about being hexed or that the other was up to something bad.

But something in Harry wanted to have more. He sometimes wondered what a friendship with Draco Malfoy would be like. Malfoy was not like his old self, both in a good and bad sense. He acted a lot less like an insufferable git, which was good, but he also was too quiet for the Malfoy Harry once knew. Which was, somehow for Harry, a bad thing.

Not that Harry would admit he missed the old Malfoy.

The thing was, most Slytherins from his year didn’t return to take their N.E.W.T.s while Malfoy had to return as a part of his probation after the War. He didn’t really have other students to hang out with, so he spent most of his time silently studying in a corner of the library or at his desk in their room. He was barely seen in the Great Hall and usually the first one storming out after every class.

Not that Harry had been paying attention to him.

Okay, maybe Harry paid him _a little_ attention, but that’s not exactly the point. He wondered if Malfoy felt lonely without his friends. He wondered if he could fill that need of a friend for him. Harry wanted to approach him, to engage him in actual conversations that would hopefully lead to a friendship, but he didn’t know how.

Harry didn’t expect that the friendship he so wished would start from something as absurd as a Muggle toy lying on his desk.

Harry was just returning from his last class one day when he found Malfoy hovering over his desk, his pale hands straightening a long piece of plastic.

“Er, Malfoy?” Harry called. “What are you doing?”

Malfoy looked up, his expression was a mix of awe and bemusement. “Potter,” he said distractedly. “What in Merlin’s pants in this thing?” he held up the plastic piece.

He stared at the item in question with a frown. “It’s a slap bracelet.”

“A slap _what_?”

“A slap bracelet, Malfoy.”

“A bracelet,” Malfoy breathed. His fingers played with the toy almost admiringly. “I never saw any jewelry that looked this… undignified.”

Harry snorted a laugh, partly because of Malfoy’s words, but mostly because of the utter disbelief in his face. “Maybe because it is not jewelry? It’s a toy. A Muggle one.”

“A toy,” he repeated. “How on Earth does anyone play with this thing, Potter?”

Harry shook his head and took it from him. “Here, give me your hand.” As soon as the words left his mouth, Harry realised how weird it sounded and tried to backtrack. “Nevermind, let me show you.”

He held his left arm out to Malfoy instead and slapped the toy to his wrist. The long plastic curled around it in a way that resembled a bracelet.

Harry looked up to see Malfoy was staring intently at the thing with wonder in his grey eyes. He found that expression looked really well on the blond’s face. Childlike curiosity, almost innocent. His eyes got that childlike shine and there was a pretty flush upon his cheekbones. Had Malfoy always been this good looking?

He mentally cursed himself for letting his thoughts stray and cleared his throat lamely. “So yeah, I present to you, a slap bracelet.”

“What is the use of it?”

“Well, it’s a toy,” he said. “You slap it and it becomes a bracelet.”

“So it’s useless,” Malfoy stated flatly.

“Pretty much, yeah,” Harry replied. “But it’s fascinating. I reckon that’s good enough for a toy.”

Malfoy let out a low laugh and Harry hated himself for liking the sound more than he appropriately should. It was so posh that it strangely sounded almost melodious. “It is indeed a fascinating little thing.”

That afternoon, Harry ended up giving the toy to Malfoy, because how could he not when Malfoy looked _that_ fascinated? He explained that he got it from a Muggle toy shop as a bonus when he bought some gifts for Teddy. He didn’t give it to his godson as he thought the baby was too young for that kind of toy. At that, Malfoy hummed and slapped it onto his own wrist a few times. Eventually, he declared in a very solemn tone that _it is too vicious for toddlers because the slaps sting too much to be classified as a safe toy_.

Despite his words, he didn’t stop slapping it on his wrist over and over.

* * *

Other than prompting a tentative friendship between them, the bizarre afternoon also led to Malfoy developing an equally bizarre obsession of slap bracelets. For a few days after that, Harry found the blond sat on his desk, tinkering with various items and some advanced Transfiguration spells.

“What are you working on?” Harry had asked once.

“Fixing the slap bracelet,” Malfoy answered distractedly.

“Is it broken?”

“Yes, Potter. I did say that it stings, didn’t I?”

Harry raised his eyebrows. “Isn’t it supposed to be that way?”

Malfoy looked up and gave him a disapproving look. “No toy is supposed to hurt you when you play it. It's common sense.”

“Right.”

And Harry had left him dubiously after that.

It was not until a couple of days later that Harry found out what he meant by fixing. It was pretty late, he was sitting together with Hermione and Ron in the mostly deserted common room in front of the fireplace writing the Transfiguration essay he forgot was due tomorrow. When Hermione was in the middle of monologuing how Harry was irresponsible for not doing his work until so late, Malfoy showed up.

“Potter!” He called and walked towards him. 

He hesitated in his steps when he realised he had company. Ron and Hermione turned to look and for a moment they were just staring at him while Malfoy uncomfortably fidgeted.

Just when the blond looked like he was about to bolt out, Harry cleared his throat. “Hey, Malfoy, what’s up?”

Malfoy still seemed like he was considering leaving but then something flashed in his eyes, something like a determination, and he marched all the way to where they were sitting.

“Granger, Weasley,” he politely greeted with a nod.

“Malfoy,” Hermione replied. Ron just sat there staring at him with suspicion.

Malfoy nodded again and turned to Harry. “I was about to show you something.” He eyed the mostly empty parchment on Harry’s lap and frowned. He no doubt knew Harry forgot his homework. Again. “But you seem busy right now. See you later?”

“I’m not busy,” Harry said and was granted with two identical looks of judgement from both Hermione and Malfoy. It was almost amusing. “No, really, I’ve finished my outline. All I have to do now is just some finishing words.”

“I’m quite certain that’s not how writing essays work… but whatever,” he shrugged. “Look what I made.”

Malfoy showed him his left wrist. A thick, soft-looking wristband was on it. The colour was dark emerald green and the way it contrasted with his pale skin was stunning. Harry didn’t fail to notice how it snugly fitted Malfoy’s slender wrist.

It took Harry a little too long to realise both Ron and Hermione were giving him an odd look. He ignored them to throw a half confused frown at Malfoy. “Well, it’s… a nice wristband?”

“It is nice,” Malfoy grinned. “But it’s not just a wristband, you see.” His right hand reached out and pulled on the wristband. The fabric smoothly gave in from the touch and instantly strengthened into a long, rigid piece of velvet.

“It’s a slap bracelet!” Harry breathed in amazement and laughed.

“A what?” said Ron with a frown.

“So you changed the material so it doesn’t hurt when you slap it?” Harry asked.

“Not only that, it also enhances its wearability. It could hardly be appropriate for anyone to walk around with a piece of plastic on their wrist, right?” he explained with an odd air of pride. “The bracelet has a thin piece of metal wrapped inside the plastic, it was not an easy task to recreate it without one. To make fabric as soft as velvet turn stiff with a simple pull and back to soft with a slap. It’s even harder to make sure it remains like that permanently.” He demonstrated slapping and pulling the velvet a couple more times.

Hermione was regarding the invention with her curious eyes. “That's fine spellwork, Malfoy,” she said eventually.

Malfoy clearly didn’t expect the compliment. He flushed a little—a pretty pink shade, Harry thought absently—and curved a pleased smile. “Thank you, Granger.”

“I don’t understand, so that thing transforms from a wristband to… whatever it is, and so what? What do you do with a stiff piece of fabric?” Ron interrupted.

“Nothing,” Malfoy slapped the velvet one more time and lowered his arms. “No purpose, it’s just a fascinating toy.”

Harry let out another incredulous laugh. “It’s weirdly fascinating, though. You should suggest George produce it for Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes.”

“Why should he?” Ron frowned. “The thing is basically useless, it has no quality of being a practical joke object.”

Malfoy tilted his head—his signature thinking pose, Harry noticed—and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Every item could be used as a practical joke, Weasley, as long as you’re clever enough. If you add a few more spells, I believe you can make this thing latch unwavering on someone’s wrist for some amount of time and they would have permanent middle finger pose as long as they have it on.” He stopped to consider his idea. “I think it would be a brilliant joke if anyone can get it on a teacher in the middle of a class.”

He said it in such a solemn voice that the three of them left gawking at him. Several beats later, Ron snorted a choked laugh. “Can you imagine McGonagall holding up her middle finger? It would be a _grand_ joke!”

“Ron!” Hermione shoved his shoulder but she herself was visibly holding back a laugh from the image. Harry, on the other hand, was openly laughing with Ron.

Malfoy, still standing before them, seemed very pleased with his strange sense of humour. He smirked and moved to turn around. “That’s all I got to show you. Good night, Potter, Granger, Weasley.” He nodded at each of them individually. He frowned when his eyes caught Harry’s. “Oh, and you better get back to work, Potter. That essay took _even me_ a full day to write.”

He left and Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at each other.

“The git has changed, huh?” Ron said slowly.

Hermione hummed. “We are all finally grown up.”

“I don’t know what’s so grown up about playing with a slap bracelet.” Harry grinned. “But, yeah, he isn’t so bad, right?”

And the slap bracelet, as odd as it was, also became the foundation of his best friends’ acceptance for Malfoy. Harry didn’t know why it made him so happy.

* * *

Harry had seen many unlikely things happened before, being the Chosen One in a stupid prophecy and all that crap. But he was still appropriately amazed with how Malfoy so effortlessly blended into his life, even accomplishing the once impossible task of befriending Hermione and Ron.

Malfoy and the Golden Trio together. Who would have thought, right? Certainly not Harry.

It started by being civil with one another, as they had Harry as a mutual friend and it was a standard rule of decency to be tolerably nice to your friend’s friends. They greeted each other awkwardly and tried some tentative talks at first. But really, it didn’t take Malfoy very long to fit into more comfortable and friendly dynamics with them.

Things initially changed when Hermione knew he was ahead of her in N.E.W.T.s preparation—and she almost took it as a personal offence.

“Maybe you spend too much time taking care of those blockheads over there to focus on your own study,” Malfoy had suggested lightly, pointing at Ron and Harry.

Hermione, still shocked that _anyone_ could be more studious than her, didn’t even try to defend her best friend and boyfriend. She demanded to know Malfoy’s time management and organizing techniques—and that was how the study buddies relationship between the two of them kicked off.

Ron hadn’t been happy about it, he complained Hermione had almost no time for him as it was without having any competitor in studying and he was upset Malfoy encouraged her to spare even less. Malfoy made it up for him by being the only worthy opponent in Ron’s chess games. Ron was a bit reluctant at first, but he seemed to be thinking that if he couldn’t get Hermione’s attention, he might as well play chess with the blond rather than dying from boredom. A few games later, the two of them had built something resembling a friendship that was based almost entirely on the petty rivalry from their chess tournaments.

So these days, Malfoy could be easily spotted in the Eighth year common room with the three of them. When he was not studying with Hermione—or in his words, letting Hermione catch up to him, _but don’t let her know because it’ll hurt her ego_ —he would play chess with Ron, and casually tease him for losing as though they had been doing it throughout their schooling years.

Harry would sit with them, attempting to do his own studying. Emphasized on attempting because he barely ever got anything done and his friends, especially Hermione, were not very impressed. Mentally, Harry convinced himself that it wasn’t his fault that studying became incredibly unappealing after the War. It was unbelievable. They fought in the life and death situation, and now they were expected to just go back being normal students?

Well, apparently yes, because that’s exactly what the rest of the returning Eight years did. Studying, hanging out with each other, moving on. Everyone else there except Harry.

It started to become a problem and he probably needed to do something about his troubles of keeping up with his schoolwork, but it wasn’t a pleasant topic for him to confront, even with just himself in his mind. So, Harry always chose to push the thought away.

Lately, he preferred to avoid thinking about it entirely and keep his mind preoccupied with other probably equally pressing issues. Like evaluating Malfoy’s presence in his life.

It was odd, having Malfoy being a part of his days, but he was strangely grateful for the change. With Malfoy, it felt like the four of them were just a set of friends hanging out together while without him, Harry felt like being a third wheel in Ron and Hermione’s recent relationship. Harry had tried to convince himself that nothing would be different between him, Ron, and Hermione, but of course changes were inevitable that his two best friends were romantically involved now. Malfoy somehow managed to balance out the awkwardness of the change and turned it into a new setting entirely.

It was also really nice having Malfoy slowly regaining his old self. He talked more and became a lot more expressive than when he first started the year. He grew comfortable enough around them that he would harmlessly insult any of them in between their conversations, not unlike the old days but at the same time completely different.

But of course, it was not without any complication for him. Because nothing was ever easy for Harry Potter.

The more time he spent with Malfoy, the more he noticed many things about the blond—things that _bothered_ him. He had been hyper-aware about his presence whenever he was around. It was not the presence that bothered him per se, but the way Harry never failed to notice him and all the tiny details in his movements. Harry hated the way he found Malfoy’s serious concentration when he was having an intellectual debate with Hermione so captivating. Or the way his smug smirk whenever he was winning a chess game against Ron did something funny in the bottom of his belly. Or the way those slender, pale fingers playing with his velvet slap bracelet felt absurdly alluring.

Or the way every time Malfoy looked up to meet his eyes gave his heart an odd squeeze.

It was weird. And it was wrong. His heart was not supposed to react that way to his friend. And it was _Malfoy_ , for Merlin’s sake, his new friend and roommate. And his old childhood nemesis.

In his defense, Malfoy was objectively good-looking. He always had been—with his tall and lean body, fair complexion, strong bone structures, and always-perfect hair. Harry thought it was only natural for finding the blond attractive. Especially now that he stopped being a git, his good features were somehow projected more prominently because of it.

It was just a natural attraction. Just like Harry finding flowers in a garden pretty, and delicious foods on a table appealing. 

It didn’t have to mean anything.

 _Right_?

* * *

Harry was right, of course. Being physically attracted to your friend didn’t have to mean anything. As long as he could keep everything strictly platonic as it should.

But then again, when was Harry ever good at keeping things the way they should?

It was, as many disasters in Harry’s life, preluded by Hermione’s wrath. This time, however, the wrath was not at all uncalled for.

She was standing in front of him with her hands on her hips, her eyes glaring daggers. Harry sat on his bed with a dejected face while Ron was watching them in silence from Malfoy’s bed across the room. 

Malfoy wouldn’t be happy about the invasion of his property, Harry thought distractedly.

“Are you even listening to me, Harry?” Hermione half shrieked. 

Harry glanced at Ron for help but the red-head only shrugged and held his arms up, indicating his neutral stance on the matter.

“Harry James Potter!”

“Yes, Hermione, I am listening,” he sighed.

“Do you care to provide any explanation on why you submitted an essay barely two inches long when Slughorn clearly required a full foot as the minimum length?” she demanded hotly. “Slughorn was really mad, Harry. Slughorn! The man who worships the ground you walk on, he was mad because he thinks you’re disrespecting him!”

Harry ran his palm on his face. “I didn’t have enough time to finish it,” he muttered meekly.

“We all had two weeks for that assignment!”

“I forgot.”

Hermione’s cheeks flushed with anger. “You forgot? Harry, are you even trying?”

To be fair, Harry really was not trying that much. If he had to be honest, he was still struggling to adjust with his post-war life that he barely had any energy or motivation left to focus on his academic works. He never said any of it to his friends, though. They seemed to be moving on well enough and Harry didn’t want to burden them with his problems. After all, if they all could, Harry should be able to, right? It was not a big deal, he had never been good at studying, anyway.

He didn’t realise the severity of this problem right until Slughorn almost kicked him out of class for not doing his work and Hermione made it her top priority to get him to understand how _fucked up_ he was. Considering Hermione’s flushed face, Harry started to accept that maybe he did have a problem to be solved.

Right when Hermione opened her mouth to start another fit of angry shrieking, the door to his room slowly creaked. A white-blond head popped up and a pair of grey eyes peered around cautiously.

“Hey, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything. I heard some shoutings and I…” Malfoy trailed off, regarding Hermione’s scowl with unease. “I just need to get my book, if you don’t mind? I’ll be on my way again.”

“Malfoy.” Hermione called, the scowl still on. “Did you know about Harry’s Potions essay?”

“Of course I did.” He frowned. “We all took the same class.”

Hermione’s eyebrows arched. “Did you know that Harry _had not_ been doing it properly?”

Malfoy threw a glance at Harry but he could only offer an apologetic look back.

“Sort of. Potter hadn’t been doing much in our room,” Malfoy said, his voice neutral.

“And you’re not even trying to tell him to do his work?” she demanded.

“Granger, Potter is an adult, stop treating him like a child. He knows what he’s doing,” he retorted coldly.

If Hermione was mad before, now she was furious. “Harry would fail his N.E.W.T.s at this rate,” she hissed. “But you don’t even care, do you? You never cared about him!”

With that, Hermione stomped out of the room. Ron shared a look with Harry and Malfoy and moved to run after his girlfriend.

Malfoy remained rooted in where he was standing. “Well, that was…,” he muttered quietly. “Pretty intense.”

“I’m sorry about that.” Harry let out a long sigh and flopped back on his bed. “Hermione is always intense when it comes to studying. And I really messed up big time.”

“Yeah, you did,” Malfoy said and sat on his bed where Ron was before. “Slughorn was furious and it was pretty amusing if you ask me.”

Harry snorted. “Well, yeah. It’s the first, right?”

Silence fell between them. Harry stared at the ceiling, trying to think about Hermione’s words, but he felt Malfoy’s gaze on him and it made him self-conscious.

“What?” He looked up at him.

The grey eyes set on him intently. Harry restrained himself from squirming.

“I do, you know,” Malfoy said.

“You do what?”

“I do care about you.”

Oh.

He didn’t expect that.

Harry felt heat creeping up to his cheeks. “Oh,” he mumbled, eloquent as ever. “Thank you? Please don’t think too much about what Hermione said. She always overreacts like that.”

Malfoy shrugged. “She had a point, though. Still, I don’t think you need to be dictated. You know what you are doing.”

Harry let out a self-deprecating laugh. “Hah, I’m afraid that I really don’t, Malfoy.”

“No, you do,” he said flatly. “You know you’re having some kind of trouble that makes it difficult for you to productively study. I think you’re completely aware that you’re ruining your own chance in passing the N.E.W.T.s.”

“What?” Harry sat up.

He shrugged again. “You clearly have something troubling you. I can hardly gain anything from pushing you to study if you haven’t got your troubles sorted out. And I can’t help with sorting out your problems if you don’t tell me about it.” He stopped, his face contemplative. “I wasn’t sure if you trust me enough for it, that’s why I never tried or said anything.”

Harry listened to Malfoy as he spoke, his heart reeling. He didn’t expect him to be so open and honest to him. He also didn’t expect that his roommate had been so observant to find out something had been bothering him. Even Hermione and Ron didn’t pick it up.

Maybe it had something to do with their different traits. Harry had been so used to people around him acting bold and straightforward in showing their feelings. Like Hermione earlier when she dragged Harry for an angry interrogation after she witnessed the Potions essay incident. He didn’t mind. That had been the only way he knew how people cared about him for a long time, even since the first time he knew anyone cared about him at all. But maybe the straightforward actions hindered them from reading more about what's beneath the surface. Preventing them to stop and discover what’s hidden.

And here was Malfoy, confessing to detect his inner distress that nobody seemed to notice before. Telling him how he didn’t say anything because his careful calculation favoured him to stay observing from afar. Saying he did care about him. Silently, in his very Slytherin way.

Harry’s heart began to beat erratically.

Malfoy looked straight at him, waiting for Harry to respond. When the silence stretched too long and words still failed Harry, Malfoy opened his mouth again. “It’s not that I didn’t try. I just didn’t want to be nosy. Even right now, I’m wondering if I’ve crossed the line.” A small frown appeared on his face.

“No-no, you’re not, really,” Harry said hurriedly. “It’s-I just I didn’t expect you to notice anything. No one did before”

“I couldn’t help it, we share a room and I see you everyday. You’re not really that hard to read, Potter.”

Harry stared at Malfoy’s grey eyes, pale like everything else in him. His gaze was unyielding, almost defiant. In them, Harry found something he didn’t expect. Warmth. Assurance. Comfort. Harry longed for more.

“It’s stupid, you know,” he drawled. “The thing that bothers me.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less from you honestly,” Malfoy replied with ease, a small grin curved on his lips.

Harry snorted in return and decided that opening up to Malfoy was maybe not that bad of an idea. He cleared his throat. “It’s just… everyone seems to move on and adjust really well after the War.” He paused to peer at the boy in front of him. Malfoy didn’t flinch at the mention of the War, his face carefully impassive. Harry continued with a renewed confidence. “Hermione and Ron… they have each other now, and they know about what they want to do in their lives. Hermione is pursuing a law career and Ron will help in George’s shop after getting his N.E.W.T.s. Hell, he doesn’t even need to take N.E.W.T.s, he really just returned for Hermione.” he paused again. “The fact that Ron is trying harder than me this year really says something, huh?” He chuckled humorlessly.

Malfoy hummed. “And that’s why you’re… feeling left behind?”

“Pretty much, yeah,” he admitted. “I broke up with Ginny almost the first thing after the War. I didn’t regret it, not really. I saw it coming. It’s just… kind of threw me even more off balance, I guess. So many things happened and changed. Hermione and Ron adapted too fast, leaving the War behind and moving on with their lives.” Harry took a deep breath. “They adjusted with the changes and just picked things up where they left them. And here I am, not knowing what I should do or even what I want to do next. People assume I’ll join the Aurors after this, but now I’m honestly not sure if I still want it after all of this.” He lowered his eyes from Malfoy’s face and fixed them on the emerald slap bracelet, constantly on his wrist. The sight almost made him smile from the fondness he felt for his friend. Malfoy and his odd little slap bracelets. “Sometimes I feel like I’ve completed my purpose, you know, defeating Voldemort as the prophecy told me to. Like I reached the climax in my life and now I don’t know what to do with the rest of it.”

Malfoy was silent for a few beats, regarding him intently. “You know what, Potter?” he said eventually. “You’re right. That’s kind of stupid.”

He turned defensive in an instant. “Well, I-”

“No, Potter, listen,” he interrupted. “What you got wrong was that adjusting with post-war life doesn’t mean successfully moving on. For me, it seems more like a coping mechanism than anything—Granger pursuing what she has always been passionate about and Weasley staying close to her. I don’t think they are having it easy, but I guess you failed to notice their struggles the same way they failed to see yours.” He sighed and shook his head slowly. “It would have been much easier if you Gryffindors would just talk and didn’t try to be discreet about your feelings. You folks are terrible at sensing this kind of thing.”

Harry opened his mouth to retort but apparently Malfoy hadn’t quite finished. “And you reached the climax of your life? Really, Potter? You’re eighteen, for Merlin’s sake. And people thought _I_ was dramatic.” He shook his pointy head again with a huff. “So what if you don’t know what you want to do after Hogwarts? You’re young, rich—fuck, you’re a _celebrity_ , Potter. You can do literally anything you want. You can join Auror training just to see if you like it or not. You can travel the world, spreading the tale of Harry Potter the Savior to every place on Earth. You can buy a tiny island and live as a recluse. The possibilities are endless.”

Malfoy eyebrows raised and looked up to meet his eyes. Harry didn’t know what expression his face was sporting at the moment, but whatever it was softened Malfoy’s demeanour a little. “What I’m trying to say is, it’s completely okay to be confused. There’s no rush to decide what you want to do. Even if you decide on something and it doesn’t work out, you can always leave it and do other things. We’re young, Potter, it’s our prime time to make mistakes.”

Harry didn’t say anything for some moments, digesting the words. It made perfect sense, every single point Malfoy made. And he said it in the manner that implied Harry was foolish to even stress over it. Or maybe not exactly for stressing over it but for silently burying it and letting it get in the way of his attempt to build back his life. He should have told his friends. Shouldn’t have tried hiding it from Ron and Hermione. Should have considered confiding in Malfoy. Should have trusted Malfoy more as his friend.

“That’s-Ah, thank you, Malfoy,” he said quietly, just a notch above a whisper. “Um, what about you? Do you already know what you want to do after this?”

“You do know I still have two years of community service after Hogwarts,” Draco said with raised eyebrows, his voice flat.

“Oh, yeah, sorry.” Harry sheepishly bit his tongue. “I mean, after that then?”

He sighed and tilted his head in a pensive way. “I’d like to get Mastery in Potions and maybe go back to Hogwarts for teaching.”

“You want to be a teacher?”

He shrugged. “I think I might enjoy teaching. I wouldn’t do it indefinitely, though. Maybe a few years until I decide on a more permanent career.” He said. “It’ll be for the best, too, I guess, considering Hogwarts is the safest place for me now.” _As an ex-Death Eater_ left unsaid between them.

Harry pondered on it. “That’s amazing. I can clearly see you being a Potions Professor with a billowing robe and oiled hair.”

They both kept a solemn face for approximately three seconds until they laughed together at the image Harry’s words conjured.

“I would never!” Malfoy gasped between his laughs. “The billowing robe part isn’t that bad, though. Just the hair part is too terrifying.”

Harry snorted and turned sober once again. “But seriously, Malfoy, thank you for listening. And maybe for fishing it out of me. It has been plaguing my mind for quite some time and, honestly, I don’t think I was fully aware of it.” He said. “You’re right, I shouldn’t be overly stressed out over my future at eighteen.”

Malfoy smiled, genuine and warm. “Still, even if you haven’t decided on what you want to do now, I would encourage you to try harder on your studying. I reckon it wouldn’t be fun having to retake your N.E.W.T.s after leaving Hogwarts.”

Harry groaned. “Merlin. I’m so far behind, I don’t think I’ll ever catch up.”

“Quit being so dramatic, Potter.” Malfoy rolled his eyes. “I’ll help”

“Really? Why would you help me?”

“Why would I _not_ help you? Potter, you literally saved my life. From literal death. And you’ve been nice to me this year when you really didn’t have to. I owe you too much, some tutoring wouldn’t put a dent in it.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Malfoy,” Harry said with a frown. He didn’t like Malfoy thinking this friendship as a favour Harry did for him. It wasn’t right.

“Of course you’d say that, Saint Potter,” Malfoy huffed incredulously. He got up and walked to his desk, pulling out a piece of parchment. He scribbled something on it and took his wand out to put some spells on the parchment, cutting it long and narrow. And stiff. He walked back to Harry’s bed and held out his hand. “Give me your wrist.”

Harry, nonplussed, didn’t move. Malfoy rolled his eyes and grabbed Harry’s left hand, straightening the arm.

Harry’s breath hitched as the pale hand touched his but Malfoy didn’t seem to be fazed. He held up the long parchment and slapped it lightly on his wrist. The thin sheet curled gently like a peculiar kind of bracelet.

When Malfoy retreated his hand a beat later, Harry forced himself not to feel disappointed.

“What’s this?” he asked instead, bowing his head to read the writing on it.

_May you have auspiciousness and causes of success._

“Something I used to do with Mother. When I was a child, we had this game where we try to make the most creative alternatives for good luck. Or just good wishes, generally. We came up with many things. Some of them were so pretentious but many were just outright ridiculous.” The small laugh he let out was fond, nostalgic. “It seems like you could do with some morale-boosting right now.”

Harry was speechless. His finger traced the neat, cursive handwriting on the piece of parchment-turned-slap-bracelet. For a moment, he let his mind imagine the picture of little Malfoy and Narcissa, sitting together and giving each other good wishes in fancy words. Something tugged in his heart, insistent and just a tad bit painful.

“Thank you,” he breathed, not knowing what else to say.

“You’re welcome, Potter,” Malfoy replied with a grin.

“But…,” he stopped and frowned. “What does auspiciousness mean?”

Malfoy laughed softly. “You better try asking that to Granger. Also, please tell her and Weasley about your problem while you’re at it.” He pulled him up from his bed and stirred him to the door of their room. “Now go.”

* * *

With his problem out of his chest, things gradually became better for Harry. He told Hermione and Ron about it, which prompted them to open up about their own post-war struggles. Malfoy was right, they were all hiding their feelings without knowing they would be better off letting them out. It was now easier to understand each other, to offer help when needed, to compromise and empathize.

And something shifted, too, between Malfoy and the Golden Trio. It was as if being trusted by Harry had given him a green light to step up their friendship. Harry could feel it, the difference happened in the blond’s behaviour around them. There was something softer in it, warmer. Their interactions became more intimate instead of simply practical. It was like Malfoy had allowed himself to _care_ and to let it show.

The four of them sat together in the common room, surrounded by a few piles of books as they always did every evening these days. Malfoy, true to his words, helped Harry catch up with his studying, patiently explaining everything Harry didn’t understand and assisting him in organizing his goals. Tonight, though, Harry was left on his accord to write a review work on his Charm lesson while Malfoy worked on his own assignment. Hermione was deep in her Arithmancy book and Ron lounged next to her since he finished his work of the day early, as unusual as it was. 

Sometime later, Malfoy yawned and stretched, making his white shirt ride up to show a glimpse of his pale stomach. Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t glance his way on purpose.

Malfoy caught his eyes and raised his eyebrows. Harry flushed and looked away. 

Shrugging, Malfoy took a break from his homework, his face showing mild boredom. He started engaging Ron with some new product ideas to sell in the joke shop. They did that a lot recently, the two surprisingly were in the same frequency when it came to brainstorming for pranks. It was really amusing, seeing his best mate engage in a discussion with Malfoy. Harry stared at them discreetly, his heart oddly warm.

Hermione elbowed him, her face disapproving. “Focus on your work, Harry,” she chided.

“All right, all right,” he sighed and looked back down at his book. “Do you know where I can get further reference on the origin of this spell?” He showed her the passage he was reading.

Hermione hummed. “Yeah, that would be very useful for our Charm project. I think I saw some books on that topic, I’ll get them next time I go to the library.” She pulled out her quill and began to scribble a reminder on the back of her palm like she always did.

From where he was sitting, Malfoy watched her and furrowed his eyebrows. “Granger,” he called. “I have something for you.” He took his bag and rummaged in it. The slender hand came out with a long, thick sheet of paper. He tossed it to Hermione.

“What’s this?” she asked as she caught the object, her tone curious.

“Something to write on so you can stop staining your hand,” Malfoy replied lightly. “It’s a slap bracelet, obviously, but you can write on it and slap it to your wrist. When you straighten it back, the writings will automatically be erased. I gave it a reminder spell, it should tingle every other hour to alert you.” He frowned a little. “I don’t know how well it will work, though, the spell. You should try it and tell me.”

Hermione’s mouth gaped in awe when she tried slapping the paper on her wrist. The paper curled securely. “Oh my God, Malfoy, this is… it’s so thoughtful of you. Thank you.” She said with a sincere smile on her face.

Ron shook his head in disbelief and let out a low laugh. “Merlin, you’re really obsessed with that Muggle toy, aren’t you?”

Malfoy grinned. “Well, say whatever, Weasley, but just wait until I succeed in making that middle finger slap bracelet and you’ll see what could come from the so-called obsession.”

“No way! You’re really working on it?” Ron’s eyes widened comically.

“I got the jinx sorted out, but I still can’t make it stay attached for long enough while keeping the jinx functioning.”

“That’s brilliant!” Ron laughed and immediately started plotting on plans to use the soon-to-be-launched invention.

Harry gazed at the blond, his chest filled with warmth and affection. The odd way Draco Malfoy showed that he cared about his friends. _Was being friends with Malfoy always like this or was this a change that the War brought?_ Harry often wondered. He might need to ask Parkinson or the other Slytherin bunch if he ever met them again.

“How generous, you spared your precious time to make those slap bracelets.” Harry said.

Malfoy smiled softly at him. “Well, I can’t spend all my time studying, Potter, that wouldn’t be healthy.” 

“Am I getting one, too?” he asked with a grin, half joking.

“Unfortunately. I didn’t prepare anything special for you.” He hummed. “But.” He produced a piece of parchment and wrote something on it. A few spells later, he reached out his empty hand. “Here.”

Harry took his hand, trying to look casual and fighting the blush that crept up his neck when their skin touched. Malfoy gingerly held it and slapped the long parchment on his wrist. As the paper curled, he let go of his hand and Harry pushed the urge to let it linger.

Instead, he brought his wrist up to read the writing on it.

_May you keep the chaos and the clutter off your desk._

He frowned. “Is this another one of your good luck alternatives or you’re telling me to clean up my desk in a very passive aggressive way?”

Malfoy laughed, the sound clear and pleasant. “I don’t know, Potter, maybe both.”

Hermione, hands playing with her own slap bracelet, observed the two of them in silence. Her eyes glinted with a calculating look. “Why are you still Malfoy?” she asked absently, almost to herself.

Malfoy seemed confused. “Because my father is yet to disown me?”

“That’s not what I meant!” she scoffed and shoved Malfoy’s shoulder lightly. “I mean why are we still calling each other with our surnames? That doesn’t sound right anymore.”

Harry hadn’t really thought about it. Malfoy had just always been Malfoy to him for years. But thinking about it now, Draco didn’t sound too bad. In fact, it seemed more fitting. It sounded so much softer, more approachable. Much like his demeanour these days. Like Draco.

“I’m calling you Draco from now on,” Hermione decided without waiting for confirmation.

The shift between them was subtle, a little unexpected, but yet very welcomed. None of them expected to see a friend in Draco Malfoy before, yet here they were now, making a space for the odd and surprisingly caring person in their lives.

The only problem was that somewhere along the way, Harry started longing for something more than just a friendship. His physical attraction for the blond bloomed into something that felt both fiercer and softer at the same time. Harry could easily brush off his attraction to Draco’s gorgeous look, but he couldn’t ignore the desire for his care and attention. He wanted to talk to him about all his feelings, both happiness and sadness. He wanted to be comforted with intimate touches. He wanted to trust Draco with everything and be trusted in return. He wanted to be cheered with odd good wishes on flimsy slap bracelets. He wanted to have them all.

Harry couldn’t help but wonder, was it greedy of him to want more than just being friends?

* * *

Harry was scowling deeply at the Potions problem in front of him, willing it to solve itself or praying for the answer to magically appear in his head. It didn’t work, of course. He still had no idea why the specific weight of Billywig wings could have a severe consequence in brewing a Laughing Potion. He slumped in the hard library chair and sighed. The problem was staring back at him mockingly from the parchment.

He had made decent progress on Transfiguration, Charms, and DADA—thanks to Draco’s patient tutoring and Hermione’s insistent pushing—but things were still quite bleak for his Herbology and Potions progress. Especially Potions. There was just too much subtlety and way more materials than he could ever dream to master. Draco scoffed at him this morning at his negative thought, saying that he had time to learn enough and get an acceptable grade.

Still slumping, Harry reached his right hand to caress a piece of parchment curling on his left wrist. Another good luck on a slap bracelet Draco gave him earlier.

_May your educated guesses always be correct._

“Guesses?” Harry had raised his eyebrows at him. “See, even you don’t believe I get this. You expect me to guess at the test.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Please, Harry.” He said. Harry had to fight down his unnecessary blush from the way his name rolled in Draco’s tongue. Friends call each other with their given names, he reminded himself. There was no need to react like that. “It said educated guesses. Let’s be honest, you might not be able to cover all the materials for your Potions N.E.W.T, but you should aim to learn enough of them to make educated guesses.” He paused to think. “Actually, let’s make it your strategy for this particular subject.”

“I don’t think I even know how much is ‘learning enough’,” he said, a bit put out but still intrigued by the idea of not forcing himself to study everything.

“That’s why I’m here to help, right?” Draco grinned, open and pleasant. Harry’s heart fluttered at the sight. “Shall we go to the library? We could study one more chapter before dinner.”

Right before they left the Eighth year dorms, Neville approached them. “Malfoy. Professor McGonagall wants to see you in her office now,” he told them.

Harry frowned. “Are you in trouble?”

“I don’t think I am,” he said slowly, mirroring his frown. “Unless mingling with the Savior and his friends is not quite allowed for me, because that’s all I do these days.”

“I don’t think you are in trouble, either,” said Neville. “But the matter seems kind of urgent. You might want to see her soon, Malfoy.”

Draco nodded at him and turned to Harry. “Wait for me in the library?”

And that was why Harry was sitting in the library alone, the Potions work in front of him unfinished. It had been too long, though, almost an hour and dinner would be served very soon. He wondered if Draco was actually in trouble or something bad had happened.

He was just considering going back to his dorm when Hermione and Ron appeared from between two bookshelves and walked toward him briskly.

She stopped in front of him. “Harry.” 

The way Hermione said his name was enough to tell him that something was wrong. “What happened?” He could feel anxiety creeping out in his system.

“Draco—he—” her voice broke a little. “Harry, Lucius died in Azkaban.”

Harry felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water all over him.

“What?” he whispered, voice small.

“Mate, you better go see Draco now,” Ron said and gently put his palm on his shoulder.

“I—where’s he?”

“In your room,” said Hermione. “Professor McGonagall said he refused to go home to see his mother and… and prepare for the funeral. He went straight there after she told him.”

Harry didn’t wait for more explanation. After muttering a quiet thank you, he dashed out of the library and all but running to the Eighth year dormitory, bumping no less than four students in his hurry but couldn’t care less about it. He needed to see Draco. He needed to see him now.

Right in front of the door to his room, Harry hesitated a little. He didn’t know what state he expected Draco was in. Was he crying? Would he want some privacy instead? After nervously weighing the options, he decided to just find out himself—he could go if Draco wanted him to. Slowly, he opened the door and peered inside.

And there was Draco, sitting on his neat bed with his legs extended, crossed on the ankles. His straight back was propped on his pillows and his white-blond hair was falling to his face as his head was bent down toward his lap where a pair of pale hands were playing with his favorite piece of velvety slap bracelet absently. He didn’t seem to notice Harry’s presence and Harry was uncertain of how to alert him.

“Draco?” he called softly.

The owner of the name lifted his head with unnatural slowness. The grey eyes caught Harry’s.

“Oh,” he mumbled, his tone a bit surprised. “Harry.” A little frowned appeared between his brows. “I forgot to meet you at the library. Were you waiting for me?”

Harry’s heart clenched at the sight of him. Draco didn’t look particularly sad. If anything, the blond looked confused. And lost. A strong urge to wrap him in his arms overwhelmed Harry.

He resisted, though, opting to slowly walk towards Draco and sat on the edge of his bed, facing him. The grey eyes stared directly at his, the glint unreadable.

“Are you—,” Harry started, unsure. “Are you okay?”

Draco kept staring at him, his lips parted a little as he breathed gently. “You heard?”

“Yeah. From Hermione.”

He shook his head, looking lost again. “I—” he sighed. “It’s… quite complicated. Things with Father.”

Harry impulsively touched Draco’s hand, still playing with the velvet slap bracelet. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

Draco now looked down to stare at Harry’s hand, warmly covering his. None of them said anything.

They stayed like that for a long time as Harry mapped the planes of Draco’s hand in his. Silence engulfed them both until Draco turned his palm and tugged at his hand softly. “Will you…,” he half muttered. “Will you come here, please?”

Harry didn’t get what he wanted at first, then Draco tugged his hand again, firmer this time, so Harry was pulled to shift next to him. Understanding, he moved to climb the bed, the mattress dipped with his weight. He shuffled awkwardly until he sat close next to the blond.

Draco hummed and scooted over even closer until their sides were pressing. “You do mind?” he asked in a low voice.

Harry’s reply came almost a bit too early. “Not at all.”

Granted with permission, Draco leaned his weight on Harry’s body and rested his head against his shoulder. They didn’t talk again for a few more minutes, basking in the silence. Harry, ignoring his racing heart, concentrated on the gentle heat he felt coming from Draco.

They were quiet for what felt like hours for Harry, then Draco started talking in a low voice. “I… I don’t feel sad, not really. It’s really complicated.” He stopped. “I don’t want to sound insensitive, I mean… you lost your own father long ago—”

“It’s okay,” Harry cut him quickly. “You can talk whatever to me if you want. I will understand. It’s okay, Draco.”

Draco went silent again for a moment. “Thank you,” he said eventually. “He… Father used to be my hero when I was a child, you know? He was everything, I always looked up to him for every aspect of my life. I imitated all his habits. I followed him everywhere until Mother had to physically restrain me more often than not as I got unbearably clingy.” He laughed a little and Harry smiled, the image of tiny Draco walking on Lucius’s trails felt somewhat endearing. “And he was the best father I could have asked for. He was loving, even when he didn’t show it a lot. He pampered me and he cared about my mother. He was perfect.” He paused and took a breath. “Until he wasn’t anymore.”

Harry didn’t say anything. However, he let himself move on impulse again and raised his arm to curl around Draco’s back, protective and secured.

Draco seemed to appreciate the gesture and burrowed further into his side. He continued on. “Then the Dark Lord came into the picture. The Death Eaters business started to take off in full force. Everything changed in the Manor—in my family—including Father,” he said. “The changes had been gradual, but constant. I tried to ignore it for so long. Until one day, I woke up and realised I couldn’t find a trace of my hero in Lucius Malfoy.”

He tightened his embrace and Draco sighed.

“I never talked about this to anyone, not even Mother. But, of course, she understood. She always did,” he whispered and cleared his throat. “The thing is, I had mourned the loss of my father, my hero, since the day he was gone from my life. And it was a long time ago. I couldn’t feel anything when they sent him straight to Azkaban after the War. I thought I would also feel nothing when he was really gone forever.”

“But you don’t feel nothing right now,” Harry guessed.

“No, I don’t,” he replied. “I feel… a little disappointed and relieved at the same time, it’s confusing. I think there is this small part in me that still… hoped that things will get better for my family. That Father would get to his senses, be redeemed, and maybe become my hero again. But now he is gone and it’s… that part of me can’t help but feel disappointed as that naive dream would never come true.” He inhaled. “And another part of me is just feeling relieved because it’s like… it’s over, you know? Father is gone, now I can mourn the man he was long ago without any empty hope that he would ever return.”

Harry didn’t know what to say. He thought that the relationship between Draco and his father was unlike normal parents and children relationships, if there was such a thing. It was Lucius Malfoy after all. But, having Draco confessing his feelings so unbounded, trusting, made Harry think of the situation differently. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered to him. He silently joined Draco in his confused mourning.

Draco bent his knees to hug his legs, still leaning on Harry’s side. “Thank you, Harry,” he said quietly. “It means a lot, you’re listening to me. And this,” he pressed closer, snuggling. “I kind of miss this. Pansy and Blaise are big fans of physical touches. We used to comfort each other by being close together. I didn’t realise how much I enjoyed it until they are no longer here.”

A small pang of jealousy bloomed in Harry’s chest from the image of Draco cuddling with Parkinson or Zabini. He quickly shook it off and mentally scolded himself. It was inappropriate, being jealous of Draco’s friends. The ones he was currently missing, at that. Instead, he tried to focus on the body in his arm. Thinking on ways to comfort the mourning boy.

“I’m sorry they’re not here to be with you,” Harry said in the end.

“Please don’t be,” Draco said. “I’m happy they’re living their lives and moving on. Pansy, Blaise, Greg, Theo…” He trailed off and Harry had a feeling he was thinking about his friend that didn’t make it out the War. “Anyway, I’m happy for them. And I’m also grateful for my chance to befriend you, Hermione, and Ron.” He looked up from where he snuggled up on Harry’s chest, his grey eyes gleaming with sincerity.

“I’m glad we can be friends, too. I know Hermione and Ron feel the same.”

Draco offered a small smile. “Thank you,” he whispered and tucked his head on Harry’s chest again, gently placing it above his heart. “May you always lead from the beating in your chest.”

* * *

It was suddenly like the beginning of the Eighth year all over again.

Since the death of Lucius, Draco suddenly became extraordinarily quiet. But, unlike the start of the year, he was now surrounded by an air of gloom instead of stifling caution. Harry, Ron, and Hermione repeatedly attempted to cheer him up but they soon realised their effort was quite counterproductive as it only forced Draco to fake uncharacteristic cheerfulness around them, which seemingly drained him a lot. In the end, they let him be.

“He’s still mourning, Harry. We should give him space,” Hermione told him.

Harry couldn't help a feeling that there was something more to it.

Draco received a letter from his mother the day after he got the news about Lucius. Harry remembered him opening it with his bony fingers, read it for a few minutes, and sat up straight on his desk, his expression shifted to deeply troubled.

Harry, who had been watching him the whole time, jumped to ask, “what’s the matter?”

“Nothing,” he replied one beat too fast, quickly folding the letter and shoving it in his drawer.

It was a painfully obvious lie. Clearly, it had something to do with that letter his mother sent him, but Harry didn’t want to press him into talking. He wanted Draco to trust him the way he did him. Now he understood how Draco felt when he was keeping his problems to himself.

As the days passed, Draco’s spirit remained low. He still spent most of his time with the Golden Trio, but often his mind was noticeably absent. He helped Harry study and engaged in academic discussion with Hermione like he did before, but something was unmistakably missing. Even Ron started to be really worried once Draco was beaten in one of their chess games and just offered him a weak smile in his defeat.

“Winning never felt so unsatisfying,” Ron said to him. “You should try talking to him, mate.”

“You think I should?”

“Of course,” he replied firmly. “It’s… we haven’t been friends with him for long. It’s… it feels a bit awkward when he is all down and sad while we don’t know what to do about it. Just try asking him, yeah? Work something out.” He cast a sideways glance at Harry. “And maybe do something about your crush on him while you’re at it?”

“What?” Harry choked. “How did you know…?”

“Well, I didn’t,” he grinned. “It was just a lucky guess, but I do know now.”

Harry narrowed his eyes as he felt heat creeping up his neck. “Since when are you able to be sneaky?”

“Seems like the git is rubbing off on me.” Ron chuckled and fondly shook his head. “No one is surprised, Harry. The two of you have been obsessed with each other _since forever_. Remember when you literally couldn’t stop stalking him in the Sixth year?”

“Sixth… It wasn’t stalking! I wasn’t obsessed with him, he was a prat back then!” he said defensively.

“But he isn’t a prat anymore, is he?” Ron arched his brow.

Harry stopped. He thought about the days they spent together, with Draco among them. The leisure walks they took around the castle when they were all too sick with revising and studying and the warm evenings when they just curled up in front of the fireplace in the common room, surrounded by unread books. But certain memories pushed their way to the front of his mind. The lazy mornings when Draco nudged him awake with a bright smile, his face open and free. The peaceful nights when they lied on their respective beds, talking about nothing and everything until they both fell asleep, not ever knowing who was first. He then thought about Draco and his odd little slap bracelets he subtly used to show that he cared about them. Of course, a prat was not a correct description for him anymore.

“No, he really isn’t,” he said eventually.

Ron smiled at him meaningfully.

Harry pondered it for another long moment. By now, he was sure about the attraction he felt toward Draco was not entirely platonic. Still, he enjoyed Draco’s company as a friend a lot and he wasn’t sure if making a move would be worth changing what he already had now. He tried to voice it to his best mate, “the thing is, Ron… I like being friends with Draco. I don't want to change and ruin it by… by wanting more?” The end of his sentence sounded more like a question than anything else.

“Harry.” he looked at him straight at the eyes. “You don’t have to change anything. There is nothing wrong that you want to be more than friends, it doesn’t have to change what you have built so far. You know what? I think I might even strengthen it,” he said, his tone serious. “So what if you want to kiss Draco? You can still have both the friendship and kisses. Well, that is, as long as Draco wants the same thing, which I personally believe he does.”

Harry tried to ignore the spark of hope that surged in his chest at the end of Ron’s comment. Instead, he focused on the first part. “You really think it’ll work?”

“Mate, I _know_ it does work. Look at me and Hermione. She’s still my best friend just like you are, still that nosy girl who likes to scold me and boss me around. Some things didn’t change. If anything, being in a romantic relationship with your friend just added more benefits to it. Like being intimate and knowing that intimacy is exclusive for you.” A boyish smile slowly crept in Ron’s face as he explained.

Harry wouldn’t lie, the idea of exclusively having Draco to himself in an intimate way enticed him more than he could explain. He imagined touching him, just like they did more and more often after Draco confessed his inclination in physical touches, but with complete awareness that their touches meant something more, something reserved just for the two of them.

“Just go get your blond prince, Harry. Bring back the old pratty-but-not-so-pratty-anymore Draco, please. I miss calling him ferret-face.”

Truthfully, Harry missed him, too. He missed the fun and witty Draco, full of odd but charming energy. He missed the subtly but confidently caring Draco. Above all, he missed Draco’s happy and open smile, his sure and unapologetic gestures.

It felt so different with how the blond acted recently. And Harry was determined to change that.

So later in the evening, Harry pushed himself to execute his bring-happy-Draco-back plan. Well, _plan_ was perhaps a generous stretch. He barely had anything prepared to save the little gift tucked inside his robe pocket. But that’s okay, he always performed best by acting on a whim, anyway. Now, he just had to bring Draco somewhere private. Somewhere that wasn’t their crowded common room.

He glanced at the blond, his head being propped up on Harry’s lap while he silently read a bulky Aritmanchy book. He looked tired, faint shadows under his sharp eyes. Harry knew he hadn’t been eating properly since Lucius’s death—he’s the one who always dragged him to the Great Hall, after all, only to watch him listlessly moving his food around—and it started to show. Draco’s already pointy face looked even bonier with the gaunt impression he now had.

“Wanna go outside for a bit?” he asked softly.

Draco looked up. “Where to?”

“I don’t know, just out? The sky is clear, we might be able to see the stars,”

A frown appeared on his face. “Are you asking me to go stargazing?”

“Yeah? Why not?”

Draco seemed to consider his offer, or maybe thinking of a reason why they shouldn’t do his ridiculous idea. Before he could come up with anything, though, Harry spoke again, “come on, aren’t you tired being holed up indoors all day? Let’s get some fresh air, yeah?”

Slightly arching his eyebrow, he gave Harry a tired look but then relented with a sigh.

Pleased, Harry led him out of their common room, barely offering any excuse to Hermione and Ron who lounged on the other side of the room. It didn’t matter, from the meaningful look the couple threw their way, Harry knew both of them understood.

The air outside the castle was a little cold but crisp, as though the weather was not yet sure with the transition from winter to spring. And, true to Harry’s words, the sky was very clear. No cloud could be seen, the almost full moon shining with pride. It was bright enough that neither of them bothered with Lumos, their path was sufficiently illuminated by moonlight and the faint glow from the night activities inside the castle.

They walked closely side by side, cold fingers brushing every other step. Harry longed to put that pale hand in his. He glanced sideways to Draco, finding the blond had his head tilted up to silently admire the stars blinking delicately at them. _He wouldn’t object_ , a voice convinced him in his head. He wouldn’t, but Harry still hesitated. The amount of physical touches they shared had increased significantly, but it was always Draco who initiated it first.

Gathering his Gryffindor courage, he slipped his hand between Draco’s fingers. The immediate grasp that answered him was a great relief. Draco turned to him with a little lopsided smile.

“Shall we sit here?” Draco asked, eyes scanning the dry patches of grass near the shoreline of the Lake. “It’s quite late, I don’t fancy going too far.”

Harry nodded mutely and Draco pulled himself down with him.

Together, hands still clasped, they just sat there, inhaling the fresh night air. Draco leaned back onto his free hand, head thrown back to watch the glittering sky. Harry was a whole lot more interested in watching him.

There, under the soft light emitted by the moon, Draco looked absolutely stunning. His white-blond hair seemed to be impossibly paler, his fair skin almost translucent. The edges of his lean body cast dark shadows in the right places. Harry felt like admiring a work of art.

“You said you wanted to stargaze,” Draco suddenly said without turning his head.

Flustered at being caught ogling, Harry quickly averted his gaze upward. He then remembered the gift he prepared before, still tucked in his pocket. “I have something for you.”

That seemed to pique his interest. “What is it?”

“Close your eyes.”

Draco obeyed without question, tugging a string in Harry’s heart from the trust. Gently, Harry let go of his left hand he had been holding and outstretched the arm. He took the gift out and paused for a few seconds, stealing glances at Draco while the blond had his eyes shut.

Harry slapped his gift on Draco’s wrist.

A knowing smile bloomed in Draco’s face from the realization.

“You can open your eyes.”

And Draco did, eyes instantly on the new piece of flimsy parchment curled on his wrist. Harry’s creation was not exactly a thing of beauty. It was almost haphazardly made, messy around the edges and one end couldn’t even curl properly. In his defense, Harry tried his best. He was just never an expert in Transfiguration.

But Draco didn’t seem to mind the sloppy appearance of the slap bracelet. His eyes were fully focusing on the words written on it.

_May you be as fascinating as a slap bracelet._

Stunned, he snorted an incredulous laugh. “Really, Harry, as fascinating as a slap bracelet?”

Harry was so happy to hear him genuinely laughed that he almost forgot to respond. He grinned widely. “I’m not exactly famous for being good with words, am I?”

He gave another soft chuckle. “No, you’re definitely not.”

Draco twisted his wrist left and right, admiring the messy accessories on it. Harry didn’t think his lousy creation deserved that look of wonderment that he had, but the awe in his eyes were so earnest that Harry’s heart clenched hopelessly.

Slowly, the light from Draco’s eyes dimmed. “I’m sorry… I must have been very boring lately, right?” he said quietly with a deprecating smile.

“No, it’s not like that.” Harry frowned. “I mean, you’ve been really… quiet. I understand if you’re still mourning, but… well, um, I was wondering if I could help in any way.”

Draco sighed and looked away. “It’s not really about his death anymore,” he said.

Harry stared at his side profile, illuminated softly by the moonlight. “It’s complicated?”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Draco’s thin lips, reminiscing their conversation about him and his father. “You could say that, I guess.”

They didn’t talk for a minute, Harry still staring at his delicate figure and Draco letting him. The night air blanketed them as the only noises they could hear were the whispers of magical creatures from deep inside the forest.

The serene silence was broken by Draco’s quiet voice, “Lucius was murdered.”

Harry wasn’t sure he heard it right. “What?”

“Mother told me. An Auror on the shift in Azkaban did it, apparently for some kind of revenge. They fired the Auror, obviously, for professional misconduct, but the Ministry is hiding the details of the death, saying to the public Lucius died in an accident. They have the reputation of Auror force to keep after all,” he said in such an impassive tone so perfect that Harry knew he was faking it.

If there was anything Harry learned in his years living in the Wizarding World, it’s that their Ministry of Magic was corrupted in a sense that public opinions often mattered more for them than integrity. Still, it was hard to believe that they would go as far as obscuring a murder done by their own, the victim being a convicted Death Eater or not.

“It’s…,” he mumbled, a bit speechless. “That’s not right.”

Draco let out a weak laugh, bitter but not malicious. “Well, seems like not everyone shares the same moral compass as you, Saint Potter.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, feeling useless. “I don’t know if I can do anything about it.”

“You can’t do anything, but that’s fine.” Draco turned to him. “As I said, it’s not really about Lucius anymore. We—Mother and I—thought that there was a big chance he wouldn’t make it out of Azkaban alive again, either way. He wasn’t as strong as people thought.” He bit his lower lip in thought, contemplating his next words. “It’s… it just scares me.”

The raw vulnerability in his face knocked the breath out of Harry. A strong urge to pull Draco into his arms and _protect_ the blond washed over him, which he could only temper the part of it as he reached out to hold Draco’s slender hand again. “What scares you?” he rasped.

“Real life,” Draco muttered, voice a little shaky. “Life outside the secure walls of Hogwarts. A life where people hate me, or my kind, enough to wish me harm. A life where Death Eaters like me face social sanctions every day. A life where we have to pay the consequences of our deeds and we are unable to even predict how much society determines the price would be. _My_ life, Harry.” He paused to look down at their intertwined hands, his breathing slightly laboured. “You make me forget about all of those. About who I am and the hard path ahead of me. You and the sweet friendship you offered me.”

Harry, staggered, couldn’t find any word in return. He held his other hand so that both their hands were tightly intertwined together and shifted closer. Without realizing it, his breath followed the same pattern as Draco’s.

“It hits me way later than it should. In a few months, we’ll finish our N.E.W.T.s and they will likely put me in a low-end job in the Ministry as my community service.” He sighed. “I was never under any illusion that people would fawn over me for what I did in the War, but I didn’t realise the extent of what they could actually do to me. If I really have to work in the Ministry—”

“No,” Harry cut him harshly.

Draco looked up to meet his eyes, his own reflecting confusion. “No?”

“No, this isn’t right. The War was over, no one should still live in fear of being unfairly killed.” Harry scooted even closer, his hands gripping Draco’s painfully tight in his anger. The vulnerability Draco showed him triggered an overwhelming feeling of indignation in him. “People didn’t sacrifice themselves to defeat Voldemort just for more people to die like that. There must be a way to make the Ministry properly convict the murder.”

Amidst his outrage, Harry felt a gentle pressure on his wrists. Draco’s fingers, nimble and delicate, were caressing them, the motion light and relaxing. “It’s okay,” he murmured quietly. “We can’t do anything about it but that’s okay. I wouldn’t say it’s fair but when anything ever was? Lucius was dead, whether he deserved it or not. Mother is safe in her house arrest. And I… I can defend myself, I know I can. It’s okay, really.” Draco offered him a weak smile. “It is what it is, Harry. I didn’t mean to make you worried. Just… I had been feeling very safe and happy here with you, Hermione, and Ron, so the realisation of what would happen after this took me a little off guard. It will be okay, I’m sure.”

The next moment, silence fell between them again, Draco’s reassurance heavy in the air. Wind rustled around them serenely. Draco didn’t cease the gentle motion of his fingers while his face—still looked too tired for Harry’s liking—set in a confident smile.

Something in those eyes nudged Harry to blurt his words unthinkingly, “I’ll stay with you.”

The fingers stopped. “What?”

“I’ll stay with you after this. After N.E.W.T.s. I’ll stay with you wherever they put you for the community service.”

“Harry…” Draco stared at him wide-eyed. “You can’t do that.”

“Of course I can,” he said. “It’s not like I have anything else I want to do after this. If they put you in the Ministry, maybe I can find a job there myself. But I’ll stay with you. I won’t let you be out there alone.”

He frowned. “I can defend myself,” he said, repeating his earlier words.

“I know. It’s not that I want to protect you or…” Harry paused. “Well, I do want to protect you, but I don’t mean you’re not capable of doing it yourself.” He stopped again, searching the grey eyes. “I really loved all the time we shared this year. I didn’t expect it at first, but I enjoy your company a lot. I thought it would be amazing if we still could share that company even after Hogwarts.” He pushed the last bit out in a whisper, “please let me stay with you.”

The fervent gaze Draco gave him was burning, unyielding. He looked at Harry in blatant wonder. Emotions flickered fast in his eyes and Harry failed to identify any of them as his mind was filled with how grey his eyes were, how bright they shone in the moonlight.

Suddenly, Draco withdrew one of his hands and—before Harry could process the loss—slowly put it on the base of Harry’s neck. He inhaled a rushed breath as he felt the warm hand make contact with his skin, his eyes unable to look away.

It still didn’t prepare him for what Draco wanted to say. “Can I kiss you?”

Harry wasn’t sure how Draco would respond to his impulsive but sincere proposal, but that certainly was not it.

“What?”

A smile curved in his mouth. “I want to kiss you. Can I?”

What should someone do when their crush was inches away and asking for a kiss? Harry didn’t know, so he just nodded, stunned and a little more than dazed.

The hand on his neck held firmer as Draco leaned in slowly. So slow that Harry was sucked into the rhythm of his heartbeat, closer and closer. Draco’s eyelids fluttered closed, obscuring the mesmerizing pale eyes behind them, and Harry followed.

Their lips met in a painfully soft touch, barely a peck, but neither tried to deepen the kiss. They stayed there, just inhaling each other in, and Harry never felt anything as intimate as that.

It didn’t last too long nor too short. Both of them pulled away almost at the same time but stayed close, holding each other.

Draco threw him a lopsided smile, almost a smirk. “Why are you looking so surprised?”

Was Harry supposed to _not be surprised_? “I didn’t know you’d… you’d ever want to kiss me?” He nearly winced from how breathless he sounded.

“Harry, I’ve had a crush on you since the Sixth year,” Draco said, his tone disbelieving.

“What?”

“Lately, I’ve been having a feeling that it is maybe not completely unrequited… but you’re unlikely to make a move anytime in this century, so of course I had to ask first,” he continued lightly, a small smirk still attached.

“What?”

“As I once said, you’re really not that hard to read.” Draco grinned at him. “And try saying something else.”

Harry tried to find another word in his head that was not another dumb _what_ . “I… I can’t believe you like me, I mean, _me_?” he gestured to himself, suddenly self-conscious about his untamed hair and messy appearance, and then to Draco, sitting all poised on the grass, strikingly beautiful and elegant.

A tinkling laugh came from Draco. “Harry,” he said his name with so much affection mixed with incredulity that Harry’s chest felt like bursting. “Here’s to the infinite possible ways to like you.”

He leaned forward to press another lingering kiss on his lips. This time a little less innocent and a lot more passionate.

From that moment on, Harry knew he would always stay with him, and Draco would let him.

**Author's Note:**

> Draco's last dialogue was adapted from a line in Have It All: "here's to the infinite possible ways to love you"
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